#internalized fear

[heretherebedork]

Li Ming and Jim's relationship is about the generational gap on fear of authority, respect for elders and hopes for the future. Because Jim has seen that the world will beat you down until you shrink into the shape expected of you and he pushes that onto Li Ming because he hopes that Li Ming will not have the hurt the way he has, will give up the fight before he rips himself to shreds but he doesn't understand that the world is changing and growing and that the fears he's clung onto for so long, the internalized hatred of so many aspects of himself, can and should change as society changes.

Everything Jim says to Li Ming, he says out of fear for the pain his nephew will have to endure. He is trying to be protective, trying to help him, trying to give him the best chance of a future but he's doing it by pushing him into the safest box he knows... go to university, get a good job, be straight, don't challenge powerful people, just stay in your lane and do what you're supposed to do... and, yes, that's safe but safe isn't always best.

That's the hardest part. Because Jim truly thinks he's doing what's best for Li Ming because it's all he knows but all he's doing is hurting him as much as Heart's parents have hurt him.

[maplecatra]

I walk by church on my way to therapy. The stone walls are welcoming and the carving perched on top of the sprawling oak door is beautiful. It's strange though, the way the water stained and yellowed old stone makes such a well known picture of a man being bowed too, worshipped as if he weren't just that, man. There is a large poster on the wall made from plastic fabric that frays and flakes at the edges. It says “No matter who you are, or who you love,”. It is old, but it is not older than me. The world fills for a moment and I feel strangely cathartic as I glance at the name on the board in front. “pastor David”. The white letters are unaligned, and the p looks like it’s from a much older set. The D is capitalized, but in smaller blocks. I don’t know him. I’ve never known a David. Those doors aren’t for me to open anymore and sundays aren’t for me anymore, the pews burn me and the crosses scare me. I am in love with the idea of you, but I do not love you. I walk away. Maybe eventually, when I am stronger and the great polished wood is nothing but toothpicks against my fingers. Maybe when it goes back to me as a child, nimble fingers and nimble friends sneaking into a ballroom never used. Maybe one day. Not today. I keep walking. I'm tired, but I let the magnetic pull of the church go. Another day. Today, I am going to talk.

[tat-art]

On Lies, Secrets, and Silence: Selected Prose 1966-1978 by Adrienne Rich

[lifeworkspsych]

Finding my queerness was a very different process. It just was. I don’t have a particular coming out story. I don’t have a moment when things clicked for me. I have been queer as long as I can remember, and I have never isolated this part of my identity from my Muslim identity. This doesn’t mean that I’ve been free from all of the internalized fear and homophobia that so many queer folks with religious backgrounds have experienced. I’m also not immune to the general erasure of queer Muslim folks from the cultural imaginary of both the Muslim and the queer community. I spent the vast majority of my queer life believing that queer Muslims didn’t exist, and that I was some kind of outlying anomaly.

"The Good, the Bad and the Weird of Being Queer and Muslim"